


Rage

by Mirage01



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Trigger warnings just in case, arya and fendry are minor sorry, bad language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7209557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirage01/pseuds/Mirage01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were two things in Arya Stark’s life one did not mess with.  Two things that to her she held sacred.  Her family and her friends.  And Ramsey Bolton decided to go and mess with both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arya

**Author's Note:**

> Something that had been running around in my head for the past month or so....

Rage was such a difficult emotion to define at times. Sometimes it was like a slow burn. Gaining power as it grew, engulfing you as it blocked out every rational thought and every rational feeling. Until all you could think about was revenge. All you could see was red. Red the color of the blood of your enemies. Red the color of vengeance.

And other times, it was like this great explosion of emotions, uncontrollable, overwhelming. Consuming everything in its wake, until all you are left with were ashes. The ashes of your enemies, the ashes of those that dare to oppose you. And even at times the ashes of your friends and family.

For Arya Stark, it was the first kind of rage that consumed her as she stood at the foot of the hospital bed watching as Theon Greyjoy, her foster brother, lay unmoving, hooked up to the numerous tubes and wires that were attached to him for him to survive the night.

Robb had found him, dumped at the door of the apartment he shared with Theon and Jon. A pile of broken bones and a bloody mess. A note stapled – fucking stapled – to his body, with just four words. 

With love, from RB.

RB. Ramsey fucking Bolton. The deranged fuckwit who tormented Theon ever since he came out and refused to leave him alone. The demented fuckwit who’s sly comments and snide remarks had her wanting to punch him in the face on a daily basis.

Calm as a summer breeze. Unmoving like a rock. She could hear her martial arts sensei, Syrio Forrel, accented voice in her ear as she strove for control. Calm as a summer breeze, unmoving like a rock.

Earlier than evening Robb’s frantic call to the family had everyone dropping what they were doing and racing to the hospital.

What they found sickened them all. The man that lay in that hospital bed was not the man they grew up with.

Not the cocky son of a bitch that had been in her life ever since she could remember. Not the man that would cover for Robb when he would spend the weekend holed up with his longtime girlfriend Jeyne Westerling at the family summer cottage. Not the man who would tease and mock Jon one minute then would punch anyone in the face for daring to do the same the next. Not the man who drove Sansa to pulling her hair out in frustration but would drive her anywhere and everywhere she wanted to go. Not the man who would embrace Arya’s wild side, and would sneak her a bottle of Jack or two ever since she was 14. Not the man who when Bran lost use of his legs looked into the best possible chair for their brother. Not the man who would lie for Rickon just to get him off punishment. This was not her brother. This was not their Theon.  
This man that lay in this bed, was broken. Emotionally, physically. Broken.

And Arya wanted to bring the world down around Ramsey fucking Bolton’s head so that he would be buried beneath her rage.

The man had to suffer. He had to pay. He had to die.

Arya breathed in deeply blinking at the image of her brother in the hospital bed, trying to ignore the clawing need to go out, find Ramsey Bolton and put a knife through his heart.

She wanted to appease the wolf snarling inside of her, begging to be let out. Begging to satisfy the bloodlust she could taste on her tongue.  
Calm as a summer breeze. Unmoving like a rock.

“Where is Bolton?” Robb asked harshly, barely looking at their father, his eyes focused on his best friend in the hospital bed. Arya could see her eldest brother’s rage simmering just beneath the surface, causing his eyes to flash with blue fire, his body tense ready to strike at any moment. 

“The police released Ramsey a few hours ago.” Her father replied his voice emotionless. “Not enough evidence.”

“Not enough fucking evidence!?” Rickon sneered, eyes wild with his own rage. His rage swirled around him like a tornado, barely leashed, barely contained. Barely 15 and already her youngest brother was already a` force of nature. “He left a fucking note!”

“Rickon!” Her mother reprimanded weakly, seated beside Theon she had one hand in hers, her face drawn and tired. “Language.”

“Fuck my language mother.” Rickon sneered again. “Theon lays in that bed barely surviving and you want me to watch my fucking language!?”

“Rickon.” Ned warned, shooting her youngest brother a look. 

“Fuc –“

“Rickon.” She interrupted, turning her gaze from Theon to her little brother, knowing out of all of them, for some odd reason, she was the only one Rickon listened to. Even more than their parents.

Maybe it was because Arya understood him. Truly understood him. His wildness, his rage. Out of all her siblings she was closest to Jon and to Rickon. Jon because he understood her and didn’t try to change her, and Rickon because they were very much alike. Wild, untamed. Starks.

Robb and Sansa were Tully’s through and through even though they had the Stark name. Charming, and charismatic, Robb and Sansa we the ones in the family who excelled in a public setting, able to talk to royalty without insulting them – unlike her or Rickon – and able to not embarrassed their mother while out in public.

Jon, who was actually their cousin and not their brother but was treated as such, was usually the mediator in their large, boisterous, argumentative family.

Bran was a perfect mix of Tully and Stark. The Stark passion with the Tully charm.

But her and Rickon. They were Starks. Rage and all. 

She watched as Rickon’s jaw clenched, as his hands closed into tight fists, before he took a deep breath, very much like how Arya took one earlier, and visibly calmed down.  
Her mother shot her a grateful look.

“How is he?” Sansa asked softly, reaching out to touch Theon’s chest lightly. Arya’s eyes shot to her sister, wondering if she too was remembering. Remembering a time when it was her in that bed. When it was her that was broken. Her that was hurt. 

Again Arya had to force back the rage that threatened to break through.

Their mother sighed, sitting back.

“Four broken ribs, a shattered jaw, two broken fingers.” She recounted. “Extensive internal damage, they had to go in to do some emergency surgery and –“she paused, her eyes finding Robb’s. “– he was –“she paused again.

“Violated.” Robb rasped staring at his best friend. Jeyne Westerling, Robb’s longtime girlfriend, squeezed his hand, kissing his shoulder in support.

“Son of a bitch.” Jon whispered, stunned.

They all stared at Theon’s unmoving figure, a range of emotions moving over each and every Stark. Disbelief, pain, helplessness and of course the rage.

“Will he survive?” Sansa asked, timidly, drawing their mother’s worried gaze. Arya knew their mother wanted to bundle Sansa up and make her leave the hospital room. She shouldn’t be here, was the expression on her mother’s face. She shouldn’t have to see this.

But what their mother did not know or refused to see, was that Sansa had this incredible inner strength that kept her going. That her core was made of Valerian Steel. And it made her more than a survivor. It made her a victor.

“He’ll survive.” Bran answered for their mother. So calm, so controlled her brother, but his rage was easily seen by the clenching of his jaw and the wildness of his eyes. “He’s too strong not to.”

“Bran –“their mother replied, probably worried about them getting their hopes up. The doctors had told them not to, that the next 24 hours would be the most telling whether or not Theon would survive or not. But those doctors did not know her brother.

“He’ll survive.” Arya repeated firmly, looking at her mother dead in the eye. “It’s Theon. He’ll survive.”

“Okay.” She breathed her eyes meeting Arya’s. Arya saw the worry her mother tried to hide from them. Theon may not have come from her body, but Catelyn Stark loved him just the same as any of her other siblings.

“Robb, Jon I want you to let the police handle this.” Their father stated, staring at the two eldest boys. Both her older brothers stared at their father, stunned.  
“Like how they handled it now?” Robb asked sarcastically. “By setting Ramsey free.”

Arya blinked, cocking her head to one side as she studied her father who was pointedly ignoring her look.

It wasn’t her two brother’s Ramsey should worry about. And the whole family knew it.

“Yes.” He told them. “No retaliation you two.” He warned pointing at both boys. “Rickon the same with you. You are to leave this to the police.” Her father stated firmly, those gray eyes staring from one brother to the other and then lastly on Rickon.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” Rickon muttered, throwing his hands up in the air.

“This is not something I want you three boys dealing with.” Ned told them firmly.

Jon caught on sooner than the other two, his eyes meeting Arya’s. Their eyes clashed, Arya’s expressionless, Jon’s apprehensive.

“I can’t let this go, dad. I can’t not do nothing! “Robb snapped, glaring at his father.

“You will do as I tell you.” Her father growled, gray eyes flashing a warning at his eldest son. “Ramsey Bolton will get his, but it won’t be from you three.”

Arya watched as her mother’s eyes jerked up to meet her father’s, a strange look in her eyes as she glanced at Arya.

“Ned –“

“Enough.” Her father insisted, those gray eyes finally meeting hers. There was a resigned approval in her father’s eyes as he stared at her. “Justice will come to Ramsey Bolton. I guarantee it.”


	2. Sandor

He supposed liking his charge was a bonus when it came to his job. As a member of the Kings Guard Protection Agency, he and his brother Gregor, had always been in high demand. Their reputation preceded them. Known to be efficient, aggressive and without remorse the richest families in the country wanted them on their payroll protecting their most prized possession. And sometimes their most prized possessions weren’t even human.

The rich were crazy when it came to what they wanted safeguarded. He had protected everything from fucking jewelry, to prized poodles to their fucking spoilt as shit kids.  
And it was always him or his brother they wanted. The Baratheons, the Lannisters, the Targaryen’s, the Starks. All families that ruled their side of the world with their golden iron fists.

And because he had worked for each and every one of them he could honestly say that the first three families - were definitely on the bat shit side of crazy.  
Rumored incest, proven infidelity and a strong thread of insanity running through three families had Sandor thanking the gods that he was no longer working for any them. It had been such a mind fuck that there were times when he thought he was going to be as crazy as them. 

Especially the fucking Baratheons slash Lannisters. Crazy marrying into crazy left the world with one demented little shit called Joffrey Baratheon. And there was no client he ever had previously and since, that Sandor hated more than that little shit. 

He thanked the gods that he had been replaced by his brother. He didn’t know what he had done or why it happened but it had been the first time Sandor was glad he had been passed over for his brother.

Let Gregor protect the deranged little shit. Because a moment longer in that little shit’s presence, Sandor would’ve most definitely killed him. And killing your client did not look good on your resume.

Although that little shit did finally get what was coming to him. No matter how rich his family was didn’t stop him from going to jail. No one deserved it more than him.  
But his latest client, however, was the only one he had in a hell of a long time where he could actually say he liked.

Little Miss Arya Lyanna Stark. A five foot something fire-ball, with slate gray eyes, inky dark hair and one hell of a left hook.

He had initially been assigned to the eldest daughters detail but she had taken one look at his face and outright refused to be seen with him. Sandor was man enough to admit that that dented his ego just a little. When he had been taking care of that little shit Joffrey, Sansa had been the only one of the boy’s friends who was at least pleasant to him. Now she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. And he couldn’t say why that bothered him.

Arya however had shrugged stared at him a little smirk hovering on her lips and stated at least people would think twice before fucking with her. It had taken all Sandor had not to laugh at her statement or the resigned look on her mother’s face as she shook her head at her youngest daughter.

The youngest Stark girl – who he had nicknamed ‘Little Wolf’ because she reminded him of one - was definitely a different sort of client to what he was used to. She had a caustic wit that he appreciated. Didn’t treat him like the hired help nor did she try and involve him with inane chatter about who was hotter than who. 

And to Sandor’s surprise he found out that she had some serious fighting skills. 

He had initially thought it was those brothers of hers that had taught her. But he had seen them in a fight. All brute force with no finesse or skill. He even thought that it had been that oversized boyfriend of hers. But no. Again brute strength with little skill. Little Arya Stark though. That was all skill. Deadly skill. Skill that he was somewhat proud to say that he had cultivated over the few years he had been with her.

He had found out she had been sent to Syrio Forell – a martial arts expert – to try and control that hair trigger temper of hers. And she had been taught well. And because Sandor liked the little wolf, he – honed her skill. Probably a bit too much, he thought ruefully rubbing his aching jaw. Last night’s sparring session had turned into a crowing session for the little wolf and with him an aching jaw.

So over the few years of constantly being in the little wolf’s presence he had gotten to know her moods and her expressions pretty well.

Probably not as well as that oversized boyfriend of hers nor as well as that bastard cousin, but pretty well. And that look on the little wolf’s face as she stormed from the hospital room that housed Theon Greyjoy, did not bode well for anyone.

“Arya –“Sansa ran after her shorter sister, halting as soon as she saw his large frame lounging in those tiny little hospital chairs. Jaqen H’ghar, Sansa’s detail stood making his way over to Sansa’s side.

“Stay here, Sansa.” Arya ordered like the little general she was. Sandor would’ve loved to see her on the battlefield, barking out orders, with death and destruction around her. Even Jaqen had a little smile for the little wolf.

“Please let’s just think this through –“Sansa pleaded.

“I have thought this through, Sansa.” Arya said softly, one brow raised. “I in fact have thought this through a lot.” She shrugged. “Just a little quirk of mine. The ability to think coherently when everything else is going to shit.”

“Theon wouldn’t –“

“Theon would’ve been the first one out of this hospital hours ago, hunting for Ramsey Bolton’s head and we both know it.” Arya told her archly. “In fact, when it was you in that hospital bed, Gendry had to physically sit on him at mother’s request - to stop him from going out and finding Joffrey and killing him.”

Sansa flinched at the reminder causing Arya to sigh in apology. The sister’s relationship had changed much over the years. Ever since what the family termed as the ‘Joffrey’ incident, Sansa and Arya had become very close.

Arya had said that as kids that fought like any other siblings but they were different as day and night. Sansa the perfect image of their mother, prim, proper feminine. Whereas Arya wore her wild-child, tomboy mantle proudly. So even though they were sisters, they were way too different to ever be close. But that was until the ‘Joffrey Incident’.

“Arya please.” Sansa whispered. “Ramsey’s unstable.”

“It will be fine.” Little Wolf reassured her sister, waving her hand. “I promise that I will not kill the fucker.” she paused before shooting her sister a cold smile. “Tonight.”

“And that you won’t get Sandor to kill him tonight either.” Sansa insisted, looking at him. Sandor shot her a dark little grin that had her flushing and turning away from him. She never looked at him for long. Probably couldn’t handle the deformity of his face.

Arya sighed, placing her hands on her hips.

“And I promise not to get Sandor to kill the little fucker either tonight.” Again Arya raised a brow. “Finished?”

Sansa closed her eyes rushing forward to hug the smaller woman causing the little wolf to freeze, panicked eyes going to him.

Rolling his eyes he scowled, shrugging his shoulders. How the hell was he supposed to know what to do? He was about as useless with emotions as she was.

Jaqen shook his head at the both of them, patting a hand on Sansa’s back.

“One must let the lovely young girl do what she must, Sansa.” He told the red-head softly, drawing her away. “A girl must listen to what her inner wolf says.”

Sandor frowned wondering if the man could act any stranger. He always spoke in riddles making Sandor’s head hurt as he tried to figure out exactly what he meant.  
But he seemed to have a special soft spot for Arya. Which bugged the shit out of the little wolf’s oversize boyfriend like no one’s business. 

Sighing Arya cupped Sansa’s face, showing tenderness that Sandor was almost positive she didn’t have.

“I promise not to do anything tonight.” She told her sister softly. “On my honor as a Stark.” She finished.

Sansa gave her sister a watery smile squeezing her hands.

“Okay.” She took a deep watery breath, looking away and composing herself.

“Tell mom and dad I’ll be back by midnight.” She told her sister, meeting Sandor’s gaze and moving towards the doors.

“Arya. Be careful. Please.” 

Arya smiled sweetly at her sister.

“Of course sister dear. Of course.” She replied turning and making her way out the doors.

“Sandor.” Sansa called out, halting his movements to go after her sister. “Look after my sister please?”

Sandor gave her a tight lipped smile.

“Believe me little bird; it isn’t your sister you have to worry about.”


	3. Sansa

Growing up Sansa Stark would have been the first to say that her relationship with her sister had never been close.  
They were too different. Different likes. Different wants. Different needs. Just different.  
Sansa did what was expected of her and actually enjoyed it. She was a straight ‘A’ student, hung out with the right people and even had the right boyfriend in society’s eyes. She conducted herself what was expected of her and only went to places that were fitting for a woman of her status.  
By society’s standards, Sansa had it all. But in truth, it was her baby sister who had it all.  
While Sansa struggled to maintain her straight ‘A’ average, Arya was able to get A’s without even trying. Not matter the subject, no matter the lesson, Arya could ace the test with relative ease while for Sansa it would take her late nights of carefully prepared study guides and long hours in the library.  
Sansa’s friends were from some of the richest and oldest families. They had been the ‘it’ crowd at school. People wanted to hang out with them, hell, people wanted to BE them. But looks could be deceiving. The same bunch of friends that had been the envy of almost everyone in school were also some of the most superficial people you would have ever met. Who would more than likely stab you in the back if it meant their gain.  
Arya’s friends were an array of different people who hailed from the slums of Kings Landing to the exotic aisles of Braavos to the riches of the Targaryen wealth. They were a motley crew who had demonstrated more than once their loyalty and their love for each other time and time again.  
Sansa’s boyfriend at the time was Joffrey Baratheon, who was a Baratheon from his father’s side and a Lannister from his mother’s side two of THE most powerful families in all of Westeros, he had also been a vile and sadistic sorry excuse for a human being who gained his pleasure from someone else pain.  
Arya’s boyfriend was her hotter than hell best friend, Gendry Waters who had to be despite his larger than normal size was the most gentlest and sweetest guy Sansa knew. That was until you messed with his girlfriend. Then he became an enraged bull that only Arya could calm.  
And growing up Sansa had never been jealous of Arya and her life. In her adolescent little head, Sansa had thought that she it better. The better life, the better friends, the better boyfriend. But now, as a woman staring back on her life, Sansa knew that she had only been kidding herself.  
She barely had any of her old friends left, save Margery Tyrell, but then Margery had also been friends with Arya at school. Jeyne Poole, Melisandre, Ygritte Wilds. All girls who were the prettiest, the richest and the most popular in school. But Sansa soon found out that Jeyne had been friends with her because she had been sleeping with Joffrey behind her back, Ygritte because she wanted her cousin Jon and Melisandre because she thought that being friends with a Stark meant she would gain power beyond her imagination. All of who had stabbed her in the back the first chance they got.  
But Arya, she still had her close circle of friends from high school. Gendry her best friend turn boyfriend who had been in love with Arya since they were kids. A guy who called himself Hotpie because of his love and skill for making the best and sweetest tasting pies you could ever taste. Daenerys Targaryen, of the house Targaryen, who was so beautiful and so exotic looking that it turned men into bumbling fools. And finally Podrick Payne. Someone who seemed so unassuming and well plain but who Margery was obsessed with after a one night stand that lead her into stalking him wherever the poor man went.  
Sansa never understood her sister growing up. But now she did.  
Arya was a true wolf. Fierce, loyal, untamable. Their father called her his little wolf-cub. Their mother, her wildling. And they had been names that Sansa had looked down on her for.  
“Changing Arya is like trying tame the wind during a storm.” Her mother had told her once when Sansa had complained about Arya and her wildling ways. “It’s impossible. You have to learn what I eventually did. Love Arya for who she is, Sansa. Not for who we want her to be.” Her mother had smiled at her softly, placing a kiss to Sansa’s forehead.  
But still Sansa did not understand her little sister. She tried, but then Arya would embarrass her in front of her friends, or would show up while they were entertaining the Baratheon’s all mud streaked and sweaty from playing touch football with their brothers and Sansa would find it so hard to understand why Arya was the way she was.  
Why couldn’t she be less like a wildling and more like a lady? Why couldn’t she be less like the sister she had and more like the sister she wanted? Why couldn’t Arya be just like her?  
But Sansa had been such a selfish, self-important little twit, because when it came down to it, Arya had been the only one who had tried to warn her about the evil that was Joffrey Baratheon.  
Sansa closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, feeling that helpless clawing feeling of another anxiety attack come on.  
He had been so beautiful to her. Literally beautiful. Green eyes that contrasted with bright blonde hair. Lannister eyes and Lannister hair. He was tall, taller than Sansa with a lean wiry build. Soft hands, and thin lips.  
When he smiled at Sansa, she literally forgot everything around her. She would bask in that smile, knowing that she had done something right to gain his approval. He was charming, and rich and popular and guys wanted to be him while girls wanted to be WITH him.  
And he had chosen her. Out of all the girls at school and in all of Westeros, Joffrey Baratheon had chosen her.  
But it had all been a façade. His beauty hid an ugliness and a darkness that still haunted Sansa to this very day, 24 months later.  
Their relationship had started out like a fairytale. Joffrey had spoilt her, showering her with gifts and jewelry that had her friends green with envy. He took her to the finest restaurants where people fell over themselves to serve them.  
Even took her shopping at the finest boutiques that you had to book to get into.  
Joffrey had been a girls dream. Her dream. But Sansa soon found out that that dream was only a nightmare.  
Six weeks of pure bliss turned into 12 months of pure hell.  
The first time he hit her it had been because Edric Dayne had smiled at her. He had accused her of cheating, screamed that she was a whore. When she had protested her innocence he had lashed out at her telling her a true lady would know when to shut up.  
She had been shocked. Hurt that he would question her love for him. Hurt that he would not believe her. Hurt that he would hit her.  
The next day had him on her doorstep with 2 dozen roses and a stuffed wolf that looked a lot like Lady, her wolf that she had since she was 14. Apologies had poured out of his mouth, those green Lannister eyes begging for forgiveness.  
So of course Sansa forgave him.  
Two weeks later he hit her for the second time. But this time he split her lip. He had been screaming that she had made him hit her. That it was her fault. If she would only just listen to him. If she would only just obey him.  
And so began the cycle of abuse that had consumed her life for 12 whole months.  
Sansa had become adept at hiding bruises and covering black eyes. Had mastered the art of lying convincingly when she had shown up to the house with a broken arm. Had even hid the cigarette burns that would litter the tops of her breasts. Low enough so that her tops and blouses would cover them, and deep enough to leave marks.  
Normally he left her face alone. Unless what she did was so bad that he would forget himself and lash out at her face.  
And it was always her fault. She embarrassed him, she didn’t wear the right clothes, a boy looked at her, she wasn’t articulate enough. There were times when he would just hit her to see his mark on her.  
But it was that last time, the last time he laid a hand on her that had been the worse time ever.  
Even now she couldn’t remember how it started or even WHY it started. But what she did remember was him trapping her against the wall, her cowering away from him, curled in a ball, him and his fists hitting her head, her neck, her back the side of her face and finally her screaming and finally swinging at him wildly until her hand connected with his face.  
Everything seem to freeze at that moment. Him. Her. Time.  
He had stared at her shocked. Stunned that she would dare to raise her hand to him. Shocked that she would dare fight back. It was then that Joffrey’s anger had turned into pure unadulterated rage.  
Even now so long after, she could almost feel the impact of his fists as they smashed into her face. The force of his boots as he kicked her, over and over and over.  
She remembered screaming. She remembered crying. She remembered blacking out.  
It had been Tommen – Joffrey’s younger brother - who heard her screams. Tommen who knocked his brother out cold. Tommen who contacted Arya – whom he had a crush on for years – to let her know what his brother had done to her sister. Tommen who had saved her life.  
She remembered waking to the sound of beeping and her mother’s sobs. She remembered sound of her father’s deep raspy voice, praying at her bedside, for her to live. She remembered waking to find Arya fast asleep in the chair beside her, her face pale, dark circles under her eyes, her hand in Sansa’s. She remembered her brothers, Jon and Theon included, all visiting her, their rage barely controlled as they showered her with hugs and kisses. She even remembered Gendry, showing up with Arya on numerous occasions, large arms full of flowers, food and gifts from his and Arya’s friends, all wanting to wish Sansa a speedy recovery.  
The only person from her friends to visit her had been Margery, brown eyes full of fire as she told Sansa gleefully that Joffrey had been taken into custody, crying for his mommy.  
The Starks had gone for Joffrey’s throat. Her father had cut all ties with his old friend Robert Baratheon and had even gone as far as sell his shares in the Baratheon Empire. It was a badly kept secret that the only reason Baratheon Empires was so successful was because of Ned Stark and the work he put into the place. Robert Baratheon was just a figure head with his name on the building. Ned was the man behind the success. Once he left, clients began to jump ship and there was nothing that even Tywin Lannister – Robert’s father in law – could do to save the company.  
Joffrey’ mother had hired Petyr Baelish to represent him. Known far and wide for his manipulations and his cunning, Sansa thought they had no chance.  
That was until her father had hired Oberyn Martell, the best prosecutor in all of the Free Cities and all of Westeros whose reputation outmatched Baelish’s but was so charming and enthralling that he had the jury eating out of his hands .  
What had started off nice and pleasant and turned into a drop down dirty fight to the end. The Lannisters had called to question Sansa’s honesty, her fidelity and even her state of mind. Accusing her of being borderline bipolar they had accused her of beating him and that more times than not he had to subdue her so she wouldn’t end up hurting herself. They even had her so called friends Jeyne, Ygritte and Melisandre as their star witnesses. All three girls spinning their tales of lies and accusations.  
Oberyn had called into question the three girls integrity. Jeyne who was sleeping with her best friends boyfriend, Ygritte who had an addiction to self-mutilation and was on probation for stalking. And finally Meli who had been in and out of mental institutions her entire life, believing that she was the red priestess for some god called the Lord of the Light.  
He had discredited and disputed their claims providing evidence on Jeyne’s cheating, Ygritte’s self-harm and Meli’s trips to the mental institutions that Baelish thought he had swept under the carpet.  
He had also provided video evidence of Joffrey’s cruelty and in turn questioned Joffrey’s state of mind. But what had been a nail in their coffin had come from none other than Jamie Lannister. Joffrey’s uncle.  
Cersei twin brother who for some unknown reason known only to Oberyn and Arya had been able to get Cersei to back down, drop the case and allow Joffrey to go to jail for his crimes and not do anything about it.  
Sansa remembered Oberyn calling the house, crowing that he and his little wolf – obviously Arya – had done the impossible and gotten Cersei and Tywin Lannister to back the fuck down.  
Arya would not tell her what they had over the Lannister family; it had been a part of the agreement. She would not even tell her mom although Sansa suspected her dad knew. But whatever it was, was big enough for a family as powerful as the Lannisters to back down and back off.  
During the trial it felt as if Sansa was trapped. Trapped in the nightmare of that night, trapped in the torrent of emotions that refused to leave her in peace. Just trapped.  
She couldn’t bear to have anyone touch her suddenly and tried to force herself not to flinch every time her brothers or her father would touch her.  
She remembered seeing the frustration and the rage in her father’s eyes, the helplessness in her all her brothers eyes and the worry and overprotectiveness in her mother’s eyes.  
It had been Arya who had hid her emotions from Sansa and just sat with her. Arya who just let her be.  
Sometimes they would sit for hours, saying nothing, doing nothing, feeling nothing. Other times Sansa would be raging, crying or screaming.  
But during those times Arya never wavered. Never got frustrated. Never left her. It was during those times when Sansa finally appreciated the little sister she had, and not long for the little sister she wanted.  
It wasn’t till after the trial that Sansa heard that on his way from remand into prison, Joffrey had been beaten badly by a couple of inmates. He had been beaten so bad in fact that he started having delusions.  
He had claimed that it was Arya that had come into his well-guarded private prison cell and attacked him. Breaking his jaw, shattering his kneecap and breaking his leg in two places.  
But video evidence had shown Joffrey starting the fight with two well-known criminals Biter and Rorge and those same criminals beating Joffrey bloody. Arya had not even been in town when it happened.  
But Sansa also knew what her sister was capable of. Everyone who truly knew her did. And Sansa knew that if there was anyone capable to beating the crap out of Joffrey and make it look like someone else did it, it was Arya.  
Sansa shook her head trying to clear her mind from her past. Joffrey was still in prison, Cersei hadn’t been heard of since and Joffrey’s father had continued to drink himself stupid. They couldn’t hurt her now. None of them could.  
“Sansa.” Sansa’s head jerked up, meeting the familiar blue eyes of her mother. “Honey, are you okay?” Catelyn asked worriedly, coming towards her.  
“I’m fine, mother.” Sansa said quickly, shying away slightly and ignoring the hurt look on her mother’s face at her rejection.  
“Maybe you should go home, honey. This can’t be good for you.” Her mother suggested softly.  
Sansa felt a flash of irritation at her mother’s coddling. She understood why, she did, but sometimes her mother could be smothering to the point where she felt as if she were suffocating.  
“I’m fine mom, really. I just needed to talk to Arya before she left.”  
Something flickered over Catelyn’s face as she glance at Jaqen’s impassive face and then back to Sansa.  
“Sandor is with her. She’ll be fine.” Her mother told her, reaching out to squeeze Sansa’s hand.  
“I know.” Sansa took a deep breath her eyes going to the door that Arya had stormed through. “It’s Arya.” Sansa shrugged trying to nonchalant. “She’s always fine.”  
“But it doesn’t stop you from worrying, does it?” her mother smiled, wrapping her arms around Sansa’s shoulders. “It doesn’t stop you from wanting to drag your entire family close to you and never let them out of your sight again.” Catelyn kissed Sansa’s temple.  
“Arya’s strong.” Sansa told her. “She has strength enough for the entire family.”  
Her mother sighed.  
“So do you Sansa.” Her mother told her. “The same strength that Arya has, you have it too.” A smile twisted her mother lips. “You just show it differently.” Her mother ran her fingers through Sansa’s hair. “It was something I refused to see until Arya forced me to see. We show our strength in different ways. You have your father’s strength. Quiet, steady, unwavering. She said what happened to you didn’t break you, it just changed you.” Sansa was stunned at her sister’s description of her. Who knew that’s what Arya really thought?  
Her mother cupped her face, meeting her watery gaze a wry smile on her face.  
“It’s just you are the only one that lets me baby you. Even my baby doesn’t let me baby him.” her mom pouted causing Sansa to give her a shaky smile. “Let’s go and stop your brothers from going on a man hunt. We already have one Stark to worry about. We don’t need more.”  
Sansa licked her lips allowing her mother to drag her back into Theon’s room, knowing that if anyone had things under control, it was her little sister.


	4. Ramsay

There was just something about Arya Stark that just captured a man’s attention.  
Maybe it was that self-confidence. That knowing little smirk. That fucking sexy little body. Maybe it was the fact that she was a Stark, from the House of Stark of Winterfell, one of the richest and most prominent families in the county, whose father was a War Hero and one of the savviest business minds in all of Westeros and whose mother was an ex-supermodel turn housewife.  
Maybe it was the fact that she herself was a super-intelligent, super sexy tom-boy who could wear the hell out of a Vivian Westwood dress one minute and then have men drooling over her in her scruffy Target style jeans the next.  
Or maybe, just maybe it was because the woman was just sexy as hell. With that fall of ink black hair, stormy gray eyes, sardonic smirk that really never left her face and long toned limbs that had men – both young and old - lusting after her like the dogs they were.  
And Ramsey Bolton wanted to fuck her like the dog she was. He wanted to see the fear in those gray eyes, feel the breath start to leave her body as he choked the life from her only to hold her at the brink of death and then deny her the blessedness of feeling no pain by bringing her back to life and then taking her to the brink again.  
There was no power on earth more – exhilarating than the knowledge of having someone’s life in your hands and you deciding whether or not they lived or died. It made you feel like a god. It made you a god. That power. That feeling. That high.  
Ramsey remembered the look on Theon Greyjoy’s face as he had tied him down and fucked him, remembering the power he had over the bigger, stronger man and how he had screamed. He remembered how he had dug his knife into Theon’s chest, watching with morbid fascination as a thin stream of blood appeared as Ramsey carved him up.  
That feeling, that power. Was addicting. And he wanted to feel it again.  
With Arya Stark.  
Watching her from across the café where she sat with her deformed bodyguard that went with her everywhere, Ramsey wanted her like he wanted his next breath.  
There was something so inherently – dark about the youngest Stark girl. A tinge of danger and darkness that drew someone like him to her like a moth to a flame. But it also caused the voices in his head to hiss a warning out to him.  
Be careful, be careful. They whispered. He never did do well with being told what to do.  
Her sister, Sansa, was light to her dark. Classically beautiful, tall, red-headed almost regal. But Arya, was different. Earthy, sensual with that touch of darkness.  
And if he were honest with himself, he had been obsessed with her for years. From the very first time he laid eyes on her in middle school till now, Ramsey Bolton had wanted to possess Arya Stark, darkness and all.  
Licking his lips, Ramsey stood and moved towards the pair, never taking his eyes from his prey. They were the only ones in the café save for the two workers behind the till and her dog. No one to witness his taking of Arya Stark.  
“Lady Stark,” he greeted mockingly as he approached her table, ignoring the warning glower from the deformed freak beside her.  
Sandor Clegane.  
Ex-Navy Seal and if rumors were true ex-convict. The man was even more intimidating up close, with one side of his face burnt almost beyond recognition and his scowl deadly as he stared at Ramsey like he was considering killing him and selling his organs on the open market.  
Word had it that he initially was supposed to be the eldest daughter’s bodyguard but she had refused once she had seen the tragedy of his face, citing to her father that she couldn’t possibly be seen with someone who looked like Clegane.  
So Arya had taken Clegane on not at all worried about the man’s face and his less than stellar demeanor.  
“Ramsey Bolton.” Arya greeted, gray eyes wandering over him lazily, causing the side of Ramsey’s mouth to hitch up. “To what do I owe the – displeasure of your company.” She asked him, mouth twitching as she stared at him.  
Irritation speared through him at her subtle dig.  
Be careful! The voices in his head screamed. Be careful!  
Ignoring those voices, Ramsey smiled at her.  
“Now, now,” he tutted moving so he was right beside her, noticing the tensing of Clegane’s impossibly large body as Ramsey touched Arya’s face almost lovingly. “Is that anyway to greet someone who just wants a moment of your time.”  
Something swirled in those gray depths as she stared at him, a knowing little smile touching her lips.  
“You want more than a moment of my time Bolton, so take a seat.” She invited, indicating the chair beside her, and leaning back in her own seat.  
Ramsey licked his lips as he trailed his eyes over her tight little body, imagining it under him, that slender little neck encircled with his fingers as he fucked her and choked her at the same time.  
“Why thank you,” he smirked, smoothly pulling a seat out and moving it closer to her, invading her personal space.  
If Clegane was even more intimidating up close, then Arya fuck she was way hotter. The tanned tone to her skin, the darkness of her hair the glint in her eyes.  
In his mind’s eye he could see them both, him surrounded by her blood, her screaming for his mercy.  
“Go out with me. Saturday night.” He told her abruptly. “Food, wine maybe a movie. Lose the dog.”  
The ‘dog’ growled at him, causing Arya to throw her head back and laugh.  
“So presumptuous,” she chided, as moved towards him in one fluid movement, mesmerizing Ramsey for a second. “There is always one requisite before I go out on a date with anyone.” She purred her face inches from his.  
“Oh?” he asked breathlessly, not even caring that the power had shifted from him to her. She was so confident in her skin. So arrogant. Like she knew the power she had over the opposite sex and wasn’t afraid to use it.  
He drowned out the voices by breathing in her scent.  
“Yeah.” She breathed, her hand resting on his knee and then moving up his thigh. His skin prickled under her touch, causing his heart to pound erratically. Shit, this woman, this girl was only eighteen years old and she was playing him like a well-played guitar.  
Time to snatch that power back.  
Grinning Ramsey gripped her hand, moving it up and over, letting her feel just how big he really was, hissing when she squeezed him just right.  
“How about we leave my dog here and we take a look at your car.” She murmured, her lips moving lightly over his cheek, causing Ramsey to almost pant with need. “I’ve always wanted to see what the backseat of that SUV of yours looks like.” She whispered.  
Fuck, who knew Arya Stark was such a wanton slut. Especially since she and that boyfriend of hers had been going out for years.  
“Sounds like a – perfect idea to me.” He grinned; standing abruptly he pulled her out of her chair.  
“Clegane, stay.” She ordered, barely looking at her scowling bodyguard as Ramsey hauled her towards the door.  
“He follows orders so well.” Ramsey mocked, noticing the big man shrugged and did as he was told.  
“You have no idea.” Arya smirked, watching him through hooded eyes.  
Ramsey didn’t question her sudden change of heart, all he knew was that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.  
“In.” he ordered as the came up to his custom made black tinted SUV.  
Pulling open the backdoor to his vehicle, Ramsey watched that tight little ass as it got into his backseat, knowing which hole he was going to fuck first.  
Heart pounding and lust coursing through his veins Ramsey shut the door, pulling at his belt as he turned to the smirking Stark girl in the backseat of his car.  
“Don’t you want to know my requisite?” she asked him, leaning back against the door of the car.  
“I don’t give a fuck.” He snapped, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him. Arya pouted as her body crashed into his.  
“But I really, really –“  
Ramsey crashed his mouth onto hers, tearing at her shirt, hungry to feel her skin under his hands, and her blood beneath his nails.  
Arya chuckled as she reached down, slipping her hands inside his pants, squeezing him playfully.  
“So impatient.” She purred, flexing her fingers around him teasingly, causing Ramsey’s eyes to roll in pure pleasure. Shit, where the hell did she learn how to do that. The right amount of pressure, the right amount of pain. “So fucking stupid.” She spat, her fingers tightening around his dick painfully she pulled, hard, causing Ramsey to scream. He hand slapped over his mouth muffling his scream.  
“Night, night, Bolton.” Arya whispered before he felt a prick in his neck and suddenly everything went black.  
:::  
He was going to kill her. Tear through her body, rip out her organs and feast on her blood.  
He was going to wipe that knowing little smirk from her face and make her scream. Right after he fucked her to death.  
Ramsey Bolton struggled against the cuffs that bound him, crouched like he was taking a shit, hands cuffed to his ankles and shackled to the wall behind him, gagged so his screams couldn’t be heard.  
He had woken bound and gagged and had struggled to his feet in a crouched position. It was such an awkward and demeaning position to be in and it put major strain on his muscles.  
He couldn’t count how many times he had either fallen on his ass or fallen face first, only to struggle to get back to his feet again.  
That fucking bitch was going to die! He thought viciously, pulling at the cuffs. Right after he fucked the smirk off her fucking face.  
Suddenly the door slammed open and the dead bitch walking sauntered into the dingy little room she had housed him in, cold little smile on her face.  
Ramsey screamed behind his gag, cursing and struggling against his binds and he lunged for her only to fall head first into the floor.  
“Sorry, what?” she mocked, holding a hand up to her ear. “Wait let me get that for you.” She purred, reaching down and pulling the gag on his mouth off.  
“You fucking little cunt! You will die!” he screamed from his position on the floor, spittle flying and body bucking wildly.  
“Well that’s not nice.” She chided, tapping him on the nose playfully. “After I got you accommodation worthy of your standards.”  
“I’m going to fuck you bitch until your scream for mercy.” He hissed, pulling at his binds. ”When I get free – what the fuck!” he screamed as Arya smacked him in his forehead with the palm of her hand, stunning him slightly.  
“No talking.” She chided.  
“Fuck you, you stupid little cun –“the curse was cut off abruptly as Arya struck out at his throat causing his throat to immediately close up.  
Ramsey choked for breath, coughing as he tried to breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?!  
“No talking!” she insisted, whipping out a particularly large hunting knife from what seemed like nowhere causing Ramsey’s eyes to widen. “Now see we –“she pointed the damn knife at him and then at herself. “– are going to come to an agreement. You will listen and I will talk.”  
“Little wolf –“a deep dark voice growled, causing Arya to scowl and look behind her. Only then did Ramsey notice Sandor, ink black eyes glaring at him like he would like to rip Ramsey apart with his bare hands. “– he will not be able to listen to you if he dies too early.” He rumbled, indicating Ramsey who was seeing spots from his lack of oxygen.  
Huffing Arya lashed out at him again, causing an instant release to Ramsey’s throat as he sucked in much needed air.  
“Better?” she asked, patting him on the cheek. “Good. Now our conversation.” She sat before him, cross legged, casually twirling that knife right before his face in these intricate motions, almost hypnotizing him with its gracefulness. Those eyes stared at him like some science experiment shifted over his face clinically. “I wanted to kill you.” She stated conversationally. “Cut you up in tiny little pieces and feed you to Nymeria.” She paused staring at him again. “Had actually planned on doing that.” She said lightly, smiling at him. “Sandor, convinced me otherwise.”  
“I need this job.” The dark man grumbled. “Can’t have this job if you are in prison for murder.”  
“That’s only if I get caught.” She argued.  
Clegane snorted, never taking his eyes from Ramsey.  
“Anyways, Sandor convinced me that instead of killing you, I should let you live with a warning.”  
Ramsey continued to cough, forcing a sneer to his lips.  
“You think I won’t retaliate you little bitch. You think that you will get away with this?” he croaked, eyes blazing.  
The stupid girl smirked. Smirked! At him!  
“See people are under the misconception that it’s my older brothers that are the dangerous ones. And I suppose to a certain extent they are.” She shrugged, smiling fondly. “Robb, Theon and Jon. Military trained – well Sandor trained.” She nodded her head towards the silent man, never taking her eyes off Ramsey. “Dangerous in their own right. So protective.” She said mockingly, that dark smirk widening, as she watched Ramsey swallow nervously. “So ready to tear the flesh from someone’s bones at the thought of anyone hurting their younger siblings.” She smiled proudly, peering down at him from her height advantage.  
“Bran and Sansa they are the less violent ones in our family. My sister – well that goes without saying. She’s been through enough to last one a lifetime and that little shit Joffrey got what he deserved.” A cold smile crossed her face as she stared at him, those grey eyes glinting like mercury. “And Bran –“she tilted her head slightly, shaking the knife at him. “– one should not underestimate my younger brother. Wheel-chair bound he may be but harmless he is not.”  
She leaned towards him, the tip of her knife pressed lightly against his cheek.  
“But it’s Rickon and I that are the dangerous ones.“ She murmured, her smile turned deadly. “– we are the feral ones. The ones that will rip you apart with our bare hands and laugh while doing it. We are the ones to fear.” She purred running her knife down Ramsey’s face causing him to flinch and the prick of the knife. He felt a wet trail in the knife’s wake, flinching at the sting.  
“When it comes to a member of our pack we tend to not see sense. We tend to act first and think later. Especially when that member is found in the hospital, broken and bleeding from something you and your little minions did to him.”  
Ramsey heart stuttered as he realized she was talking about Greyjoy.  
“Ahhhh. I see you connecting the dots in that tiny little brain of yours.” She jabbed his head with the butt of her knife, causing him to wince. “Theon Greyjoy. My brother.” She glanced at him.  
“I know, I know. Technically he’s not my brother but I consider him so, so he is.” She shrugged again, smirking at him. “And because I consider him family, what you did to him, requires payment. In blood. Your blood.”  
Fuck, this bitch was crazier than he was, Ramsey thought, trying to scramble away from him.  
“Don’t run away Ramsey love.” Arya sang, her smile rivalling that of the Joker. “There is still fun to have!”  
Ramsey started horrified as she came towards him, regretting that for the first time in his life, he never listened to those little voices in his head.


	5. Theon

Theon Greyjoy stormed through Gendry and Arya’s apartment ignoring the warning growl from Nymeria – his adopted sister’s larger than average wolf - as he barged through her bedroom door and glared down at her sleeping figure.  
Like when she was a kid, she slept on a diagonal, the blankets wrapped around her body like a python, the many pillows she insisted on sleeping with all over the bed. It looked like a bomb site, her bed, and Theon remembered how Sansa use to complain that it was like sleeping with a tornado. Idly he wondered how the hell Gendry got a good night’s sleep with her all over the bed like that.  
“Oi, brat, wake the fuck up!” he demanded kicking her bed. He watched as she lifted her head to peer at him, before she muttered something unintelligible and pulled the blankets over her head, trying to shut him out.  
Fed up, Theon pulled back the covers from the foot of the bed, grabbed her tiny little ankle and pulled her off the bed, causing her to bang her head on the hardwood floor.  
“Son of a fucking bitch!” she cursed, kicking out at him.  
“You - you little psycho what the hell did you do?” Theon snarled, getting ready to pull the little brats ankle again.  
“Nymeria no!” Arya commanded and Theon blinked, so lost in his anger that he forgot all about the scary as shit wolf that crouched, ready to leap at him and tear him apart for daring to touch her mistress.  
Shit. Normally he and the mutt got on real well, but all she saw was someone threatening her mistress and her first instinct was to kill first and ask questions later. Just like her damn owner!  
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Arya huffed pushing her protector to the side and getting to her feet.  
Theon had grown up with Arya, watched as she turned from a dirt streak little girl that followed him and her brother’s around to the absolutely gorgeous woman in front of him. At nineteen Arya wasn’t very tall, probably the shortest of the Starks at 5’5, but she had all these golden limbs and toned muscles that made even him – being that he like men more than women - take notice.  
Looking at her now, oversized shirt that belonged to her oversized boyfriend, dark hair messy and silver grey eyes blinking away sleep, Theon could understand why so many men found themselves obsessed with this one tiny little being. Until you got to know her.  
She was so fucking frustrating!  
“Don’t lie to me little girl. I had the cops visit me asking where the hell I was two days ago. What. Did. You. Do?!” he bit out, poking her in the forehead. She swiped at him like an angry kitten.  
“You were at the Targaryen Ball two nights ago. Everyone saw you there. What the fuck are they on?” she snapped, throwing her hands up in the air.  
“But where were you?” he asked, taking a step towards her and ignoring the warning growl from the angry protector next to her. “You were late.” His eyes narrowed as he continued to glare at her. “You and that dog of a protector of yours.”  
“Don’t call him that.” She pointed at him, ever so protective of those she considered family. He didn’t know when Clegane had been added into the Stark family but now that he was there, the scary as hell bodyguard was there for life. Unfortunately.  
There was scary and then there was Clegane. He literally looked at you like he was measuring you up for a body bag. That dark glare and frightening smirk had even him curbing his tongue on occasion. And that was very hard for him to do.  
“Robb and Jon knew.” He breathed staring at her and ignoring her interruption. “Those fuckers knew what you were up to.” His eyes narrowed as he continued to glare at her. “You had it all planned, didn’t you, you little psycho. The night of the Targaryen Ball where everyone who was anyone would be at. Showing up at the beginning with Gendry, conveniently disappearing for a few hours, showing back up all sexed up.” Theon finished through gritted teeth. “What did you do, Aryy?”  
The dark smirk crossed his pseudo baby sister’s face scared him. Truly scared him.  
“What I had to.” She told him.  
“Son of a bitch, he could’ve hurt you!” he shouted at her. “Ramsey Bolton is fucking deranged and he could’ve fucking hurt you!”  
Arya glared at him, stalking towards him, causing Theon to take an initial step back before he blinked at stood his ground. Don’t show fear, he thought to himself almost desperately. Wolves can smell fear. No, this was his pseudo baby sister. He will not back down. No matter how much she scared the shit out of him.  
“He. Nearly. Killed. You.” She growled, the growl sounding almost like Nymeria at that moment that the actual Nymeria raised her head. “He decided to lay his hands on you and hurt you. Did you honestly think I would let that go? Knowing me the way you do, did you honestly think that I would not DO anything?” her voice was so cold and so low.  
For anyone who knew Arya, they knew that THIS Arya was the Arya to be wary of. But it was this Arya that worried him. Because this Arya would and could kill no matter the costs.  
“Ary –“  
“We may not share blood, Theon Greyjoy, but you are my brother. Just like Robb and Jon, and Bran and Rickon.” She stalked towards him again causing Theon to back up until his back hit the wall. It must have been a hilarious sight, six foot two Theon backing away from little Arya like she was going to kill him. “You were the one who leaked those photos of Jeyne Poole with her bright pink retainer when she started calling me horse face. You were the one who taught me how to deliver a left hook as well as a right hook, even though Robb told you not to. You have been there for me since I don’t know when. You are my brother, and you seriously think I was going to let some deranged psychotic idiot take away the wolf inside you?” again no shouting just low fury. “You were always the baddest fucker I knew, of all my brothers. The one who didn’t give a damn about what people thought and how they reacted. And suddenly just because you sexual preference went public and Mister Insano and Insane Squad decided to lay their hands on you I’m supposed to be okay with that?” she snapped so coldly furious, Theon shivered.  
Fuck Ramsey Bolton and his band of merry fucking men to the seven hells and back. Fuck them for making his life a living hell and for turning him into the kind of man that broke down at any given moment and made him break out into uncontrollable shakes. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.  
Waking up in that hospital bed 15 months ago, Theon had wished that he had died. There was pain and then there was agony. And he had been in agony every fucking day for two months. He couldn’t move, couldn’t eat could barely breathe without the pain blindsiding him.  
And then there was the mental anguish. Memories in living color that would have him jerking out of bed at all hours, muffling the screams that rose to his lips. Memories of the pain, the laughter – that fucking laughter that had him scared to go to sleep lest they consume him again and again.  
Enter the Stark family and their unwavering love and support. He knew growing up that this family loved him, but he never knew how much until then.  
They refused to let him spend a night alone always insisting that one of them would stay with him, no matter how loud he protested. It was usually Robb or Jon and on occasion Sansa and Arya.  
But out of all of them it was Arya who he preferred staying with him.  
With Robb and Jon there was always this slight undertone of helpless rage that led into awkward silences. There had never been any awkwardness with the three of them. Never. But there had been then and it made Theon angry.  
With Sansa there was this – sorrow that made him uncomfortable. He remembered that a few years before it had been her in the hospital bed and him wanting to find Joffrey Baratheon and skin him alive.  
But with Arya there was nothing but amused laughter and gentle teasing. Her rage was well hidden, her sorrow, concealed. And Theon felt like he could finally breathe, without the worry and the rage of the family. Without any expectations. And Theon also felt that his best night’s sleeps were when Arya was there. With her no expectations and her well concealed rage.  
Because he knew his sister. He knew that she would be fucking furious.  
“You are supposed to leave it to the fucking cops!” he insisted, poking her in the head again. “Let them deal with the insanity that is Ramsey Bolton. Let them do their fucking job!”  
“Their job?!” she snapped, throwing her hands about. “They let him go. Again! His fucking father pulled more strings than Tywin Lannister and had him released. He was walking free. He was fucking lucky I allowed him walk away with his life!”  
“Dammit, why couldn’t you leave well enough alone? What if they connected you to his being beat up? There is no way in hell he’s gonna keep his mouth shut. He’s Ramsey fucking Bolton. You should’ve have left him alone!”  
“Fuck you, and fuck that!” she snapped causing him to wince and her foul language. “He stole from you your pride, your belief in who you are. He stole from me my brother!” her voice raised slightly, the rage she tried so hard to control swirling like liquid silver in her eyes. Theon watched as she hauled back the rage, as that infamous iron control of hers kicked in.  
“Aryy –“  
“Enough!” she made a cutting gesture with her hands, so damn commanding and aggressive he almost listened.  
Almost. He wouldn’t be Theon Greyjoy if he didn’t push the mark somehow. And it wasn’t until lately he had started feeling like the old Theon Greyjoy. Sarcastic, cryptic, annoyed.  
“You are still a little psycho!” he gritted out, poking her in the forehead. Scowling she slapped at his hands, and he pushed her. She kicked out at him, causing him to grunt and he dove for her, tickling her until she squirmed and cursed him at the same time.  
Pausing Theon kissed her forehead, hugging her tightly.  
“Thank you.” He muttered grumpily, meeting her gaze.  
Arya rolled her eyes at him, flicking his ear not saying anything. Grinning Theon grabbed her, hugging her tightly, so tightly she began to struggle as he shook her like a rag doll as she tried scratching his eyes out.  
Ahhhh, he did love his family.  
:::  
It was a strange scene that Gendry Waters walked in on not even 15 minutes later. And any other man would have probably been pissed off to find his girlfriend, legs wrapped tightly around another man’s waist from behind, one arm wrapped around the said man’s neck as she pulled on his hair.  
That is unless that other man was Theon Greyjoy. His girlfriend’s adopted brother.  
Both brother and sister froze as he stared at them amused before his girlfriend vaulted to the ground but not before she gave a vicious tug on the man’s hair again.  
“What are you doing?” he sighed, his attention on Theon, the older of the two, as he glared down at Arya while rubbing the spot where she pulled his hair.  
“She started it!”  
“He started it!” the both said together before getting into another lovely slap fight.  
Shaking his head, Gendry placed the coffee cups he had in one hand on the drawer and the muffins beside it. Walking towards the fighting duo with easily picked up the love of his life and threw her on their bed drawing a laugh from her.  
Picking up her adopted brother from the back of his neck, Gendry frog-marched him towards the door, shoving him gently on the other side.  
“Go away.” He told Theon firmly closing the door in his face.  
“You’re still a psycho little shit, Arya Stark!” Theon yelled from the other side of the door as Gendry shrugged off his jacket. “But thank you, little sister.” He whispered softly before Gendry heard him stomp away from their bedroom door and slam out of their apartment.  
“Why are you torturing your brother?” he asked his girlfriend as he grabbed the coffees and the muffins and handed them to her.  
Arya shrugged, grinning.  
“Because I can.” She informed him taking a sip from her cup and winking.  
“Everything okay?” he asked her.  
“Yup.” She told him popping the ‘p’. “Ramsey fucking Bolton got what he deserved and will not tell a single soul about it, I am slowly getting my brother back and I have coffee!” she cheered raising her cup to him. “What more can a girl want?”  
Shaking his head and smirking at her Gendry pulled his shirt over his head watching as her eyes darkened as her gaze travelled over his naked chest.  
“I don’t know. I’m sure I can think of something.”


End file.
